


Not Anymore

by pawsdash



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Caretaking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Relapsing, Sickfic, stu is an angel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 04:04:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14204646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawsdash/pseuds/pawsdash
Summary: Murdoc doesn't see himself as being deserving of many things- namely, Stuart.





	Not Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy, all! Happy spring, if you live in that hemisphere. So this was basically all based off a prompt I thought up of Murdoc waking up to Stuart playing with his hair- it all snowballed from there. I was really looking forward to writing with a focus on Murdoc's perspectives; makes him a lot more human, I suppose. 
> 
> All [italics] are supposed to be Murdoc's intrusive thoughts.
> 
> Trigger warnings:  
> Themed around alcohol abuse, relapse and the presence of intrusive thoughts- those are the biggest warnings. Mention of alcohol abuse in Muds' family. Muds also snaps at Stu at one point. Also, a big one, mentions vomit so if that makes you feel icky, be cautious.

There were certain things that Murdoc felt he just didn’t deserve- correction: there were a lot of things that Murdoc felt he didn’t deserve. Second chances, Monday morning traffic, happiness… He could really go on. However, the most significant thing that Murdoc did not deserve were the long fingers that combed back his hair, stirring him from his sleep. For a moment, his eyes remained gently closed, enjoying the comforting sensation. This would be quickly interrupted by a persistent stinging behind his eyes, knocking ruthlessly until he was forced to yield and blink open his eyes. 

“ ’t’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon, Muds,” the gentle voice mumbled, the bed dipping to indicate that the other had taken a seat beside his pathetic form. “Jus’ wanted to make sure you were alrigh’.” There was a soft note of worry beneath the layers of feigned jadedness. They’d been in the same position more times than Murdoc could remember, but he imagined that it still worried Stuart somehow. If he were in the tall man’s place, he would have given up on caring years ago; but Stuart didn’t see him as a lost cause somehow. _Yet._

Murdoc sucked in a deep breath, allowing his eyes to fall closed once more. A sinking feeling was stirring in his gut, loud and obnoxious and uncomfortable. Regret, no doubt. His hand smoothed over the surface of his bedsheets- which, he added to himself, could stand to be washed. This wasn’t his Winnebago anymore. It wasn’t like those mornings, which came every day back then, where Murdoc would rouse to his own stomach turning itself inside out with anxiety and sickness. Sometimes, Stuart would have dared to slip inside and place some of his own prescription painkillers and a cup of water beside Murdoc’s bed before he woke, too afraid of what would happen if he were to wake Murdoc or be caught in Murdoc’s personal space. He wasn’t in the Winnebago anymore; he was safe- and maybe that was why it hurt so much more.

“Satan,” Murdoc hissed, fighting back the emotion which threatened to overwhelm him. He’d relapsed again- badly. He could only recall fleeting moments of the night before, of Russel warning him to slow down and Noodle attempting to physically pull a Mickey from his hands before she was calmed and led away by their drummer. The band members had learned by now that it was best to let him deal with his own relapses else they wished to bring out the “old Murdoc.” He remembered breaking one of Stuart’s potted plants when he had toppled over. He remembered looking in the mirror with sunken eyes and seeing his father.

“It’s alright, Muds,” Stuart managed with a surprising amount of clarity. His hand continued to work away the knots in Murdoc’s unkempt hair, his other fist resting in his lap. He seemed to sense the older man’s thoughts even before Murdoc had spoken, saying, “remember wha’ you told me? E’rrybody relapses.” And Murdoc couldn’t help but think to himself, _I shouldn’t be allowed to, though._ Another stretch of silence filled the space around them and Stuart released a tired sigh. “Talk to me, Muds.” 

“There’s nothin’ to say.”

Stuart paused, his fingers ceasing their motions for a moment. He reached to Murdoc’s bedside table to retrieve a glass of water ( _when did that get there?)_ and a curly straw, of all things. He coaxed Murdoc to sit up on his elbows and pushed the straw toward his mouth, expression falling when Murdoc scoffed in his face.

“Why don’ you just get me a pacifier as well, ‘Dents? ‘m not a fuckin’ kid.” He muttered, turning away. He certainly wouldn’t be belittled, sipping water through a child’s straw. _Daddy would beat the shit out of you, wouldn’t he, you fuckin’ sissy?_

Suddenly, Murdoc was pushing the glass into Stuart’s torso, causing some of the water to slosh out onto Stuart’s shirt. He barely could register the gasp of shock, pushing past the other and shoving a shoulder into the bedroom door to push it open. The world spun and blurred around him, yes, but he had done the same routine so many times that he could likely do it in his sleep. He rounded the corner into the bathroom and was promptly sick in the toilet. 

He couldn’t even remember how long he’d sat there on the floor, old knees aching as they were forced to endure the tile beneath him. At some point, Stuart had come in to comfort him, crouching down beside him and running his palm up and down Murdoc’s spine. Murdoc let him. _He’s still pretending to give a shit about your sorry arse?_

“ ‘m sorry,” Murdoc managed, voice hoarse. When Stuart began to respond, and Murdoc knew it would be something like ‘don’t be’ or ‘what for?’, he quickly interrupted. “ ‘m sorry for, uh, throwin’ up and makin’ you feel bad ‘nd getting you wet an’, f-fuck,” he broke off, a knot tightening in his throat. “ ‘m sorry I killed your plant too, Stu- ‘m sorry.” He could see Stuart shaking his blue-haired head in his peripheral vision. Part of him wanted to continue, to not allow for Stuart to tell him that it was all fine, but he was just _tired_ by now- too goddamn tired.

“I forgive you, love,” Stuart responded, voice barely a murmur for how gentle it was. The younger man leaned forward and pressed a comforting kiss to his shoulder blade. “Shirts can be washed, y’can buy me a new plant.” _He’ll get himself a new Mudsie too, won’t he? What’s broken can be replaced._

“I-I… ’t was just a slip up, y’know? I-I’m not like this, ‘right?” Murdoc felt his breaths coming faster and a nervous smile crossed his lips. He squared his shoulders, or tried to, combing his hair back messily from his eyes. “I-I c’n change, ‘m not like tha’.” His gaze searched Stuart’s face frantically, lips quivering in a poorly-held expression of faux confidence.

Stuart only met his gaze with dazed confusion, his eyebrows creasing together in a frown. “Muds, y’ain’t makin’ sense,” he replied, shaking his head slightly as he spoke. His arms wound around Murdoc’s shoulders and he pulled him back from the toilet and against his chest. “Drink some water, ‘right? For me,” he urged, reaching to where he must have placed the glass of water on the counter. The straw had been removed. _You did that._ He obediently sipped some water, clearing the foul taste from his mouth.

“I-I just mean, y’know, I-I’m not like this anymore, right? I’m not a-a… a drunk, right?” He pressed urgently, gulping down the rest of the water and  tossing the glass somewhere into the dark. A sharp sound came from the material hitting the tile, though it didn’t shatter.

“Of course not, Muds.” Stuart responded, holding the man close to him and brushing wild strands of raven hair from his face. “You’ve not had a drink in weeks before last nigh’, falling off track once don’t make you an alcoholic again.” His other hand ran soothingly down Murdoc’s arm in an attempt to comfort him. “Talk to me, Muds.” _You couldn’t even talk to your reflection without fucking it up._

“I jus’ don’t wanna hurt you. I don’ wanna be like… like tha’.”

“Like your dad?”

“Yeah, uh, I-I suppose,” Murdoc stammered, feeling his chest tighten at the words. Stuart knew him far too well. He inhaled deeply, then released it in a frustrated huff. “I jus’ don’t wanna hurt you, Stu. I-I’m… I’m not like tha’ anymore, right?” Every sentence he spoke felt as though it would break in thin air, desperately needing affirmation from the other. _You say everything wrong._

Stuart shook his head, then allowed for it to rest against Murdoc’s gently, almost in exhaustion. _He’s tired of putting up with you._ “No, y’don’t do tha’ kind of stuff anymore. You didn’ even try anythin’ last night, Muds, don’t worry.” His words held a tone of sincerity and he seemed to recollect himself, straightening his back. “C’mon, I think we should get you back to bed, love. You’ll feel better once you’ve rested.”

“C’n I stay with you?” Murdoc pressed, shocked at how urgently the words left his lips. _What a needy bitch._

A soft kiss was laid to his brow and he felt the other sigh. “Of course,” came the reply. Murdoc felt some of the sickness in his body ebb away.

Stuart helped to pull Murdoc to his feet, supporting him as they walked- or limped, in Murdoc’s case- to Stuart’s bedroom. The younger was careful to sit Murdoc down on his bed, retrieving some clean pyjamas for the man. He patiently helped the other into the clean clothing which hung from the smaller frame a few sizes too large. 

_You’re such a child. What makes you think he even wants to help you? You’re just like your goddamn dad- you’ll be lucky if you make it another year, you fucking-_

“Muds, hey,” a voice snapped Murdoc back into the present, coming face to face with the concerned expression of his lover. “C’mere an’ lay down, love.”

Murdoc nestled himself between the wall and Stuart’s form, his fingers curling into the fabric of Stuart’s t-shirt as an anchor. Again, fingers combed through his hair in an attempt to lull him to sleep. There were many things that Murdoc felt that he didn’t deserve. Monday morning traffic, happiness… He could really go on. 

Thankfully, Stuart begged to differ.


End file.
